Feel So Fragile
by fc2001
Summary: She just wants to be... DannyLindsay, post 3.18 Sleigh Out Of Hand so spoilers up until that if you haven't seen it.


**Title**: Feel So Fragile

**Pairing:** Danny/Lindsay

**Disclaimer**: Without prejudice, the recognisable characters used within are the property of Anthony Zuiker and CBS, and a whole load of other people with more money, power and influence than I either have or will likely ever have. All I own is my 4 year old Fiesta and my toaster, so please don't sue.

**Spoilers**: Up to and including 3.18 – Sleigh Out Of Hand. If you haven't seen, I'd avoid this.

**Notes**: Well, this is my first CSI:NY fic…but seriously, the muses awoke in lectures one day and it just wrote itself. It's completely unbeta-ed, any mistakes are totally mine although I have checked and re-checked it. I'm a bit unsure on his voice in particular, so any comments on that would be appreciated. It's obviously post-ep but bear in mind I'm working just from clips and it was written before the episode aired..

Feel So Fragile

"Take me home." She says, finding herself with a sudden need to lean on him. To lean on anyone, but he's there. He's warm and solid and right by her side when she needs him to be, sheltering her from the paparazzi and the questions and everything she doesn't want to have to deal with. "No, in fact, take me anywhere but home."

"OK." She doesn't blame him for sounding unsure. She's unsure. Is it a good idea? They had, after all, just nearly kissed. Which wasn't something they could brush under the carpet too easily. "Anywhere in mind, Montana?"

"You know," she muses, "calling me that when we're _in_ Montana just sounds a bit stupid."

"Fine." He agrees, and she can see the smile without looking at him. "Lindsay, it is then."

"That doesn't come naturally does it?" They reach the rental car, and he pauses with his hand on the door handle, looking straight at her.

"Nope." He admits, opening his door. "So, where to, Lindsay?"

"Anywhere." She climbs in the passenger seat, a heavy sigh on her lips. "Just get me away from this courthouse."

O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O

"Heavy day, huh?" She can feel his eyes on her profile, even with her eyes turned to the window, watching the familiar streets of her hometown pass her by. She'd grown up there – she knew every bend, every shop, practically every litter bin – but it didn't feel like home.

Every day she was back, the nightmare slipped a little closer to her again. She became a little more like the girl she'd been back then, and a little less like the cute country girl façade she'd put on since moving to New York. Cute country girl was an easy stereotype to fit for her, and it was easier than letting her dark side out. People didn't like cute girls to have dark sides. She'd learned that a long time ago.

What she hadn't counted on was him.

She guesses she'd always known she'd have to fall in love one day. That she'd have to allow someone into her life. What she hadn't bargained on was it being him, so different to any man in her life before.

"Yeah." She sighs. "I suppose you're wondering why I didn't tell you?"

She flashes him a glance, sees the small shrug that is so typically Danny. He had been hurt, but damned if he'd let her see it too much.

"I am sorry." She continues. "For what it's worth."

"Lindsay," he broke across her, "I won't say it's fine, but we all got secrets,"

"Thank you for coming," Lindsay fixes her eyes on him across the car, "it's good to have you here,"

"I was…" He corrects himself suddenly, aware he was about to give too much of himself away. "The lab was too quiet without you."

In a day so hung with the tragedy of a past she could never really forgive, that one sentence made the world bearable again. There was some warmth in her heart again.

_God bless you, Danny Messer. _

She thinks.

O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O

"Do you want to come in?" He asks. "Coffee, or something stronger?"

They'd stopped just driving when they'd run out of town to drive, and headed back to his motel. She hadn't talked much and he hadn't made her. He'd heard the details of the incident in the courtroom, and knew she just needed company, not to relive that night again.

He knows what its like to have nights you'd rather forget. He knows sometimes the last thing you need to do is talk. She finds herself appreciating this more than she can put into words.

Despite her better instincts, she nods. She must have her reasons, but she isn't sure what they are.

There's no coffee. There's really not much beyond an awkward shrugging off of jackets.

He turns from the bed and cannons into her, standing awkwardly in the centre of the room. There's a tension in the air, like they're both aware something might be about to happen.

Lindsay finds her stomach already knotting at the thought, and tries to swallow back her rapidly rising fear. Her breathing comes more quickly, the electric buzz nauseating and exciting her.

He brushes a stray curl from her cheek, fingers ghosting her skin so softly. She's sure he doesn't know how fragile she feels, but he's still touching her like she's breakable.

She sucks in a breath, summons her courage, and steps into him. She reaches up for his glasses, removing the last barrier. He smiles, takes them from her, and stows them safely on the side table.

"They get in the way, don't they?"

She just smiles, bites her lip, waits.

It's clear how different their kissing styles are from the moment they try to go different directions and bump noses. He blushes – which is very cute in itself, not used to being any less than perfect at this and embarrassed by appearing so in front of her – and she stutters an apology.

More than two thirds of people tilt their head right. Trust her to find one of the third that goes left.

This is the moment. They're lip to lip, and it's beautiful and terrible all at once.

This isn't supposed to feel like dying, she reasons.

Hands slide up into her hair, thumbs making small circles just behind her ear, at her hairline, anywhere they can reach. Every muscle wants to freeze. It's a struggle to keep breathing.

_Relax, Lindsay, you might enjoy it_.

It's not because he isn't good at this. If anything he's a little **too** good at this. He's a seasoned pro, she can tell in the expert flicks and twists of his tongue, the way he's keeping just enough pressure.

There's no demand on her mouth to give back, he isn't forcing her lips apart. She's responding of her own accord. She's had practice herself after all.

She's from the country. She's _not_ a virgin.

Every time she tries to speed it up, by pressing harder, sliding her hands lower over the taut muscles of his back, he slows it down again. He's got all the tricks. But this is killing her inside.

Part of her brain is enjoying it, keeping to the slow rhythm, relishing body heat against her own, just enough contact in all the vital places.

He hasn't even moved his hands from her hair and she could almost come where she's standing.

The other part is screaming 'no' for all it's worth and it's hurting her. This conflict of desire and neuroses feels like she's being ripped apart.

She has to resist the urge to force her hand down between them, because she knows damn well he's already hard – God, she thinks, sometimes it really doesn't take that much – the urge to just drop to her knees and get him off right there. She knows she could.

Her mouth is sort of legendary. So her ex-boyfriend used to tell her anyway.

Giving pleasure would be so much easier than taking it. It would cause her less pain.

She suspects he wouldn't let her if she tried.

He's all about her and it's killing her slowly.

Most of her wants to tell him to stop worrying about her. That slow and steady isn't winning this race. She knows he wants her to be _different_, that he wants her to be _special_, but she doesn't want to be _different_ and she doesn't want to be _special_.

She just wants to _be_.

She can't do that when he's making her feel like she's something worthy of being adored. She doesn't want to be the jewel in any crown. She isn't worthy of it.

He doesn't know that this would hurt less if he just fucked her, the way she knows he really wants to. If he'd bruised her, demanded this of her. Her body wouldn't have to think so hard about responding then. She could have just wrapped herself around him and let him screw her until she forgot her own name.

She's tempted to break off and whisper that in his ear. That'd scare him. She'd smile to herself if her lips weren't otherwise occupied.

She feels it. She feels his control slip. It's in the hitch of his breath, the way his muscles go from coiled springs to something approaching molten. She tightens her fingers slightly, as if this change might make him slip away from her.

And try as she might, she can't release the tension from her own muscles.

Even as his hands drop from her hair, and ghost their way down her back, tracing the length of her spine. He must be able to feel the knots beneath her skin, the way her whole being is so tied up tight.

She's tense and breakable, stretched to snapping point.

His hands hesitate in the small of her back, fingers toying the hem of her shirt. She holds her breath for a second, unsure. Slowly, they drop to the curve of her ass.

She presses her eyes tighter closed – which she hadn't thought possible – and swallows hard as her hips jerk forward. Jeans clad friction makes her head swim – the line between pleasure and pain blurring.

"Danny."

His name escapes despite herself – half-curse, half-moan – as she feels him buck back against her, face buried in the join of her neck and shoulder. She feels the muttered "fuck" through the thin fabric of her shirt.

She knows that's his last attempt at self-control.

A moment passes, with just heavy breathing for company. Part of her itches to run, to grab her jacket and just head for the door while he's vulnerable.

"Are you OK?" She's startled by how clear his eyes are without his glasses, at how alive they were. The way he was staring at her, she would swear he could see through her. Right through her, right into every reason why she shouldn't really be doing what she was. "Montana?"

Her nickname breaks her.

Every reason she wasn't good, she wasn't pure, she wasn't worthy, everything in her life before now, everything was right there. She couldn't just be in the moment. This moment…the here and now…wrapped up in him and the way he kissed and the urgent heat against her thigh.

She couldn't just let this be.

This should be sweet and perfect. This is the ultimate cliché of opposites attract. She should be able to let this run its course. It should be OK to feel again by now.

She wants to let him lay her down, undress her and do everything he wants to do until she can't take it anymore, until her toes curl and she cries his name. She wants to let him into her, all of her. But she can't.

"I...I'm…"

His hands drop away, but he doesn't step back.

"You can't do this."

He surmises, with a worrying accuracy. She wishes his face didn't look quite as pained as it does, pinched with concern. As if he's done something wrong, when clearly, she is the one with the problem.

"No." She shakes her head sadly, keeping her head ducked deliberately to avoid the blue eyes that are always her undoing. "It's not…"

"You it's me?" He cut across her. "Uh huh."

"At least let me…" Her hands went instinctively for his belt, looking up at him again, eager to please. He catches on to her meaning instantly, and before she knows it strong hands grip her wrists. She tenses, reflexively fearful. He realises his mistake and slackens his grip, still holding her hands away from his body.

"No, Lindsay." The words were forceful, but strained. It would have been so easy for him to let her. But he'd gathered up the last of his self-control and was doing the decent thing. "You're not the first girl to get me all worked up and get cold feet. I'll cope."

"I'm sorry." Her voice was so tiny, almost pleading. "I wanted to…"

He releases the vice grip on her wrists, and her hands drop to her sides, limply. She feels useless, tired, weak, and just a little ashamed.

"I'll wait." Lindsay finally looks into those eyes, blinking back tears. "However long it takes you to be ready. There is nothing in the world I want to do more than make love to you, but I want you to be right there with me when I do. For that, I can wait."

There is sincerity in his words that she hears too rarely from him, an absolute truth. Each word is weighted, carefully measured before being allowed to her ears. She doesn't doubt that he would and he will and she can't wait for the day that she can finally let him.

"I didn't think you had romance in you."

Lindsay teases gently. He smiles, almost shyly.

"Repeat a word of that…"

"Relax…" She lays a hand on his shoulder, moving to retrieve her jacket. "I'm good at secrets."

Fin.


End file.
